Priorities
by Pawfoot
Summary: Mycroft and Lestrade have never had a normal relationship, but they both understand why it can't be any other way.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N- First post from college, so that's exciting! I am not sure why I find Mycroft/Lestrade such a compelling pairing, but I love them together. This is my first foray into the pairing, so I hope it's not a complete fiasco. I now have so much respect for the fantastic people who write this pairing really well, because it's really difficult. Seriously, this was supposed to be angst, and then the guys took over and made it weirdly fluff-like.

I seem to remember reading a weird amount of fics with Lestrade watching Doctor Who, and I shamelessly stole that trope. I blame overlap in the fandoms.

Thanks as usual to my betas Rena the pirate jedi wizard, Redkilstiltskins, and Music-is-my-Oxygen for giving sound advice even if they weren't all thrilled with the pairing.

Has not been Brit-picked, so any Americanism or poorly used British slang is completely my fault.

**Priorities**

If you were to ask Gregory Lestrade to sum up his relationship with Mycroft Holmes in one word, that word would be—

Well, actually, he'd probably glare and demand to know why that was any of your business. And tell you it was a moronic question anyway.

But after all that. After you'd left and he considered the question, that word would be 'sacrifice.'

Dates broken or interrupted by murder inquires or international incidents. Weeks without seeing each other and hardly ever any contact on consecutive days.

An understanding that certain things in this world came, would always come, before their relationship. That neither would ever be the most important thing in the other's life.

An example:

There were several things Greg wanted to do to celebrate finally closing the investigation of the Jonathan Spokes murder. On the side of things he'd be able to do, he wanted to collapse onto his couch with a beer and some takeaway and catch up on Doctor Who. On the side of things he wouldn't be able to do, he wanted to have his sort-of boyfriend in his lap while having his takeaway, beer, and Doctor Who. Of course, given how long it had been since he and Mycroft had last seen each other, Greg considered the beer, takeaway, and Doctor Who negotiable.

But as much as he wanted it, the last thing he expected was to find Mycroft waiting for him in the kitchen.

Seeing as Greg and Mycroft hadn't spoken in nearly a month and hadn't had any physical contact in six weeks, they could be forgiven the rather inelegant way they were snogging against Greg's kitchen counter.

_Nobody needs this much clothing_, Greg thought as he struggled to loosen Mycroft's tie. _It's completely—_

RING!

RING!

Mycroft broke the kiss, taking a step back. He looked decidedly less coifed than he had several minutes previously. His jacket hung awkwardly at his elbows, and his waistcoat was partially unbuttoned.

"I can let it go to voicemail," Greg pleaded, reaching out to pull Mycroft back.

Mycroft took another step back. "No, you can't."

Sighing, Greg fished the phone out of his pocket.

"Lestrade," he answered, and if he sounded a bit short, well, could he really be blamed?

While his lover was occupied with the call, Mycroft began to put himself back together. Jacket shrugged back on, tie straightened, waistcoat buttoned. A hand ran through his hair, giving the impression he'd been distracted, rather than having had someone else's hands threaded in his hair.

"No, I'll be there as soon as I can," Greg was saying when Mycroft turned his attention back to him.

He shut the phone with a snap. "Four kidnappings. Four! Straight off the streets, all across London. They're expecting a hostage situation; I've got to go in."

"Of course," Mycroft said without the faintest hint of irony. "Shall I send Sherlock to meet you?"

"With a hostage crisis? I'd rather you keep him home."

Mycroft handed him his coat. "I'll do my best."

He nodded and strode to the door. The brush of fingertips against his arm stopped him.

"Oh, and Greg?"

The inspector turned, and Mycroft slid a hand around his neck, resting Greg's forehead against his own. Most of the time, Mycroft's eyes betrayed little emotion; they were as cold and as calculating as would be expected from a man in his position. Even Lestrade rarely glimpsed anything deeper, but occasionally, for just a moment, Mycroft lowered his guard, allowing his gaze to soften and warm. Allowed himself to be vulnerable for a moment.

"I love you."

"But some things are more important?" Greg asked.

"Precisely." Mycroft kissed him gently. "Go."

And Detective Inspector Lestrade left the British Government standing in his kitchen smiling softly.


End file.
